This week has been very impressive. We learned that lip-syncing exists, Burt Reynolds is susceptible to the flu, and Oprah is addicted to foreskin. But the two biggest stories were the announcement that J.J. Abrams is directing the next Star Wars movie and… my wild Saturday night, which I spent alone in my apartment. (You probably didn’t hear much about that second story, but sit tight and all will be revealed.) As usual, using my patented method, I will determine which of these two news items is more important for civilization.
When Disney made the Abrams announcement on Friday night, each and every one of the world’s 4 billion men took to the Internet to express his all-consuming rage. No one could believe that Abrams—a gigantic sci-fi nerd with a successful career making sci-fi movies and sci-fi TV shows—had been tapped to direct yet another sci-fi movie with the word “star” in it. Even the usually laid-back Chewbacca lost his cool, tweeting, “j.j. abrams? wtf you’ve got to be kidding. r.i.p. star wars. chewie out, bitches.” The typical online reaction was along the lines of, “J.J. ABRAMS IS A WAR CRIMINAL AND WE MUST BAND TOGETHER TO STOP HIM FROM MURDERING OUR FAVOURITE FRANCHISE AND DESTROYING THE CHARACTERS WE LOVE, INCLUDING YODA, C3P0 AND NATALIE PORTMAN.”
I dealt with the news by getting into a fistfight with a group of tweens (spoiler alert: they walloped me soundly!). And as I lay on the ground licking my wounds, I realized, “Hold on—I don’t really care about Star Wars.” So, that was that. Secretly, I wish Disney had made a left field choice, just to mess with people. Think how funny it would have been if they’d given Star Wars to Woody Allen or Tyler Perry. Michael Haneke, even (he looks like an emaciated George Lucas after all). There would have been murder in the streets, friends!
And now, to me. I may not be as acclaimed as J.J. Abrams, but I’m willing to bet that my Saturday night was a little more interesting than his. Highlights included:
- Going to the YMCA, using a machine and wondering why the old man with the huge belly kept marching around in a circle like that.
- Cooking a piece of fish, but mistiming the potatoes so they weren’t ready until after the fish was done and then swearing about it.
- Thinking about the future.
- Looking out the window at people laughing on their way to a bar or a nice party.
- Pretending there was a party happening in my apartment and that someone was banging on the wall and yelling, “Keep it down in there. I’m trying to sleep!”
- Drawing a picture of my life and staring at it for thirty minutes.
- Cursing my enemies.
- Wandering from room to room, just to see if anything was going on.
- Dressing up as Popeye and declaring, “I’m Popeye now!”
- Falling asleep beside the toilet.
So, who’s the winner? It’s a close call, but I’m gonna have to give it to J.J. Abrams. Sure, my solo Saturday night was a nice chance for me to get to know myself, but there’s no way I can compete with a big time Hollywood director with access to strange robots, wacky aliens, and Liam Neeson. My only hope is that one day J.J. Abrams will adapt my Saturday night adventure for the silver screen. To help me achieve my celluloid dream, please send a strongly-worded message to [email protected]. Thank you.
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Photo from www.ubergizmo.com
